


shorelines in the moonlight

by saffronHeliotrope



Series: new worlds for the weary [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Pale Fluff, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, and they all lived happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:56:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saffronHeliotrope/pseuds/saffronHeliotrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sand is gritty-soft and warm under your feet, and though you’d never admit it to John in a hundred sweeps, the Earth-style sun actually feels good, thrumming down liquid and gold onto your skin and hair and horns. The warmth seeps into you, flooding down your spine like honey. You never thought the ocean would be so big, so loud. Even the smell takes up your whole awareness, briny and sharp, organic in a completely alien way. It’s... not unpleasant. Just terrifying.</p><p>“Come on, get in!” shouts Eridan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shorelines in the moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> _I had a dream last night_  
>  _and when I opened my eyes_  
>  _your shoulderblade, your spine_  
>  _were shorelines in the moonlight_  
>  _new worlds for the weary_  
>  _new lands for the living_  
>  _I could make it if I tried_  
>  _I closed my eyes, I kept on swimming_  
>  \- Josh Ritter, [Change of Time](http://youtu.be/bhoME4ji6jk)

“Look, Kar, the sea!”

You look, and you gulp. Fuck, it’s big.

By the time you emerge cringing from under the trees, Eridan is already halfway across the beach, whipping his shirt off over his head as he runs toward the water with a whoop of joy like a goddamn maniac. You squint uncertainly up at the sun as you step onto the sand. It’s been almost a week, and you still haven’t gotten used to the non-lethal sunlight, the exposed feeling you get in daylight with nothing over your head.

The others haven’t said anything about it, though, and if they’re brave and adaptable enough to adjust, then you’re sure as hell not going to get left behind.

The ocean fills up the entire horizon, blue-gray and implacable. You pick your way nervously across the blinding sand, feet sliding and awkward. You don’t like how it makes you feel slow and slightly off-kilter. Eridan is already waist-deep, and as you watch he dives into an approaching wave, fluid and sinuous. You watch the place where he disappeared, holding your own breath involuntarily. You know about things like fins and gills, you know that he can breathe the damn stuff, but you can’t help it -- worrying about people is what you do, and even though the game is over, even though the humans dragged you through to their shiny new universe alive and whole and unharmed, it’s an old habit that dies hard.

Just as you’re starting to panic, his zigzag horns break the surface and he emerges, grinning his asshole grin. You unclench your fists and breathe again. “It’s glorious,” he shouts to you over the sound of the waves. “It’s the cleanest water I’ve ever tasted. An’ here I thought I’d never swim in the ocean again.” He bobs in the surf and vanishes again.

“Fucking brilliant,” you mutter. Why did you agree to this again?

(Maybe it’s because you’re a miserable desperate paleslut, and maybe while Eridan was asking you, Dave was draped half over Jade and half over his freakish Strider clone/lusus/creepy mammalian litter mate and not paying attention to you at all, and besides it made Eridan so incandescently happy when you said you would.)

You shrug uncomfortably out of your shirt. What, should you just drop it in the sand? What if it flies away in the stiff breeze blowing off the ocean? What if some gross sandbeast eats it or turns it into a nest? Your brand-new world didn’t come equipped with wardrobifiers and you can’t afford to just lose things anymore. You drop your shirt on top of Eridan’s discarded one.

Oh. And he left his pants too. Welp.

You toe off your sneakers, glance back at the woods -- no one seems to have followed you -- and wriggle out of your jeans. Your boxers stay firmly on, you don’t care what the seadweller standards for swimming gear might be.

The sand is gritty-soft and warm under your feet, and though you’d never admit it to John in a hundred sweeps, the Earth-style sun actually feels good, thrumming down liquid and gold onto your skin and hair and horns. The warmth seeps into you, flooding down your spine like honey. You never thought the ocean would be so big, so _loud_. Even the smell takes up your whole awareness, briny and sharp, organic in a completely alien way. It’s... not unpleasant. Just terrifying.

“Come on, get in!” shouts Eridan.

Your bloodpusher is banging against the inside of your thoracic cavity. _Fucking hell, Karkat, you faced down the Lord of Time himself, you were there right between John and Roxy in the final battle, you can troll up and get in the goddamn water._

Gritting your teeth, you stalk forward. The sand changes texture as you approach the water, cooler and softer, less shifty. And then, without warning, a ripple of clear cold water surges forward over the sand, foaming right over your feet and up to your ankles. It’s a primevally familiar touch, a cold solid shock that takes your breath away, and then the water rushes back out, carrying ripples of sand past you in little runnels and rivulets. You feel like you’re moving while standing still. It’s weird and lovely and disorienting, like so much has been in these past few incomprehensible days. You’re reminded suddenly of stars, of flight, and your breath catches in your throat.

A shadow falls across the water. “Kar?”

He stands there tall and lovely like the hero of an old ballad, purple forelock dripping, water running down his sleek gray sides, every inch the arrogant highblood. Old, old insecurities pipe up all at once. _What are you even thinking. He doesn’t need your pity_.

And then he must see something in your face, because his goes all meek and uncertain, proud posture crumpling. “D’you not wanna swim? Cause we don’t have to, if you’d rather not...”

Something in you twinges, a rusty door you’d thought was closed for good. Whatever happened to him in that eternity of dreambubbles, it changed him _so much._ “Of course we can, you horrid purple disaster,” you snarl, and the grin that breaks out across his face makes it all worth it. Then he takes your hand in his, and you’ll follow him anywhere.

It doesn’t mean you won’t complain about it, though. “Fuck shit goddamn,” you grit out as the water swirls around your shins, then your knees. You find yourself trying to climb Eridan like a ladder. “It’s fucking freezing! This godforsaken planet must have a tropical zone somewhere. Why didn’t we land there instead?” He’s laughing at you, the horrible monster. “Then again, you must feel right at home here, you cold slimy bastard.”

“I object on account a not bein’ slimy in the slightest, an’ furthermore your ingratitude for our beautiful new planet is positively shocking. I’m shocked. An’ it’s not even that cold, either. Troll up for once.”

“You’re supposed to be making me feel better, fishbrains. Ok, ok, wait, do you see that wave coming in? Here it comes, oh fuck, Ampora, it’s going to knock us over --”

“Calm yourself, you great landlubber, you’re breakin’ my fuckin’ wrist. Look, just jump through it as it comes up to you. Ready? And jump!”

You feel ridiculous, but you do, and sure enough, it breaks harmlessly around your knees. You make a disgruntled little _hrumph_ sound anyway.

Eridan doesn’t even seem to notice. “See how gentle the slope of the beach is? It’s practically flat. That means the current ain’t strong here at all. It couldn’t wash you out t’ sea if you lay down flat in the surf.”

“Like I’d be fool enough to try that,” you grouse, jumping through another wave.

“But if you ever find a beach where the sand goes down steep to the water, it means there might be a riptide, an' that could pull you out into deep water faster’n you’d believe. You shouldn’t ever swim there by yourself. Promise me, Kar.”

His voice has gone terribly earnest, eyes big and serious. Jegus, he’s actually concerned about you. You bite back the instinctive defensive snark, and nod solemnly instead. “I won’t. I promise.”

He smiles, fins doing the little hopeful rise-dip-flutter that you had forgotten about. Your bloodpusher gives a twisty little thump.

He coaxes you further out, step by step, chattering about tides and currents and how he and Feferi could map the coastline, and he gets you to admit that yes, your feet are feeling warmer as they get used to the water. Gentle though the waves are, though, you can’t get used to the rise and fall of the swells. Up to your thighs now, they push and pull at you, messing with your balance. Eridan is solid as a rock and you cling all undignified to his arm, trying not to squawk each time a wave crashes around your hips. It’s getting deep, and you’re not getting any less nervous, but he seems so happy, and you don’t want to ruin his good mood.

A wave knocks you against his side and he rights you with a chilly arm around your waist. “Steady there,” he says with a smile.

“Easy for you to say,” you snarl, and instantly regret it. He just laughs at you, though, and keeps his arm around you, which you don’t really mind when it comes down to it, not really at all.

“You’re doin’ beautifully,” he says disconcertingly close to your ear, easing you up and down through another wave. It crashes around your waist and up to your sensitive grubleg scars, and you hoot at the cold. You’re well aware that you’re hopping like a cluckbeast, arms bent and lifted awkwardly high. “You’ll get used to the water faster if you let your hands in,” he says in that hopeful-helpful tone that keeps taking you by surprise. You grumble at him but unbend your arms, letting your hands trail in the cold water, but sure enough, the temperature seems to equalize -- it’s still cold, but you can handle it.

“That’s it,” he says. “See, it ain’t so bad!”

You give him a half-hearted grimace but another wave rattles you against him. You’re not sure you want to go any further into deeper water when you can barely keep your feet as it is, but he keeps leading you forward with steady steps and soothing words, and he’s being so careful and gentle with you -- not like you’re a wiggler who needs to be patronized, but like you’re an equal, a friend -- that you can’t help but follow him. And after a moment you realize that you’ve passed the point where the waves break into foamy roaring turbulence, and now they’re just smooth ripples, long gray-green rollers that sweep past you on their way to the sand. Everything has gone quiet. You feel like you’re a long, long way from everything, just the water and the sky and the call of seabirds high above.

“There we are,” Eridan says. “This is what I love. _This_ is what I wanted to show you.”

You look up at him, and you’re a little overwhelmed. Up this close, you can see his irises shading to adult violet; you could reach out and touch his face, card your fingers through his hair. You shiver, not from the cold. This is the palest you’ve been with someone -- someone who understood what it meant -- in so, so long, and you have _no fucking clue_ what he’s playing at.

He suddenly blushes purple across his cheeks and moves as if to let you go. You flail ungracefully in the water and cling to his arm. “Don’t let go of me, you salt-addled nookmunch,” you yelp at him as a ripple of ocean threatens to capsize you completely. He twines his arm around your waist again, pulling you upright. You rage at him helplessly to cover your confusion. “What, did you bring me out here on purpose to drown me? Is this part of your super-secret plan to rid the new universe of freakbloods? Great idea, past Karkat, going out for a nice little _swim_ , nothing could possibly go wrong! Oh, except you might get abandoned by your pathetic excuse for a friend who you just happened to forget occasionally has genocidal tendencies, you fucking moron!”

But there’s no real venom in your voice, and he’s laughing at you by the end of it but holding you secure in both arms all the same, and you’ve somehow got one hand looped behind his neck and the other clinging to his shoulder. “Calm down, you miserable little wiggler, just calm yourself,” he says. “I’ve got you. Just shoosh. I’ve got you.”

And to your utter surprise, you _do_ shoosh.

He cradles you like you’re infinitely precious, and you, you hold on to him like a lifeline, you just let him hold you, you just let yourself feel safe. There’s a knot of tension deep in your gut -- the one that hasn’t really properly unclenched since the first time you realized that the blood in your veins was a one-way ticket to a swift and messy death, since Crabdad stopped taking care of you and you started taking care of him, since you watched your friends dying all around you because you couldn’t keep them all safe -- and it loosens, ever so slightly. You feel giddy and vulnerable. You feel like the ground has fallen away beneath your feet.

“Kar,” Eridan says softly. “ _Karkat._ ”

Before you can think, before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach up and trace the fine slant of his cheekbone, the arch of his brow. He takes a deep breath and goes tremblingly still. You brush his dripping purple forelock off his forehead, run your fingertips along the delicate upper tine of his fin.

He lets his breath out in a bitten-off little sob. You realize all at once how long it must have been since someone touched him like this, and pity blossoms bright and terrible in your chest for this beautiful misguided boy who bashed himself so hard for so long against every sharp edge he could find. You hurt for every hurt he’s ever had and every wrong he’s ever done. You don’t want him ever to hurt again.

“Eridan.” There’s a rusty, rumbling purr growing in your throat.

“I’m pale for you,” he says, sweet and simple, and then he adds, “pale as starlight an’ seafoam,” like a highblood in an old romance, and it shouldn’t matter, it shouldn’t make your bloodpusher stutter a beat, but oh, it does.

While you’re still trying to breathe he hurries on, “An’ if you don’t feel the same, I won’t bother you, I won’t pester you. I just. Wanted to say, in case you felt anythin’ for me too.”

“Of course I pity you,” you blurt out, trying not to stumble on the words. “How could I not, you perfect awful wreck? Of course I’m pale for you too.”

His face lights up bright and sweet and happy, for all the world like a piece of this planet’s mild little sun is shining out through his eyes. He pulls you right up off your feet against his chest with his arms tight around you, and you have both of your hands buried in his wet hair. You just want to get closer; you wrap your legs around his waist under the water, and he rocks with you in the swell of the waves. He leans forward and kisses you slowly, once on each cheek, once, carefully, on the mouth, then presses his forehead to yours. He’s purring too, low and steady, and it rumbles through your chest and all the way up your horns and down your spine. You think your pusher is going to burst.

And that, of course, is when the breeze picks up. Voices are approaching, one low and growing louder, a steady stream of “Goddammit, Egbert, don’t you dare, I’ll fucking end you, I swear to God, I swear to _myself,_ don’t you fucking dare--” and another that bellows gleefully, “ _GERONIMOOOOO!”_ And there’s a falling flailing ball of red and a mighty splash.

Dave surfaces beside you, spluttering, “Fuck, it's cold!” while John rolls comfortably in midair, clutching his stomach and laughing like a madman. Vriska comes swooping up beside him on her ridiculous wings.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” says Eridan irritably to no one in particular.

“A whole planet to ourselves and we can’t even have one minute alone for a fucking pale confession scene,” you grumble. He laughs and nuzzles at you, and you can’t even be mad when John and Vriska start catcalling at the two of you. John’s hoots end soon enough when Dave rockets out of the water, grabs him around the waist, and plunges straight back into the water with John underneath. Vriska laughs so hard she almost falls in herself.

You turn, looking back up at the beach. Tavros and Jane are wading in the shallows with their pants rolled up to their knees. Aradia and Terezi kneel on the sand nearby, and it looks distressingly like they’re poking dead things with sticks. Sollux and Rose are arguing, as usual, and Jade and Jake each have Dirk by one hand and they’re tugging him resisting toward the water. You think you can see Nepeta and Equius curled together under a tree. You know that the others are scattered nearby, coming and going, or back in your little village, all whole, all safe.

There’s work to be done, but not right now. Instead, you’ll take today to swim and invent games and build sandhives and run around like fools. The knot of worry in your gut comes undone just a little bit more.

As the sun sets behind the trees and the ocean reflects back the deepening blue of the sky, Eridan teaches you to float on your back. At first you thrash, tense and untrusting, but he talks you gently through it, until at last you arch your back and breathe freely. Your head tips back, the cool water covers your horns, and you can feel the thrumming of the ocean in your bones, the rhythm of waves, the depth and the darkness and the light, buoying you up. Eridan’s hands are steady and stable under your back, and even when you spread your arms wide like you want to embrace the sunset sky, he doesn’t let you go.


End file.
